


Kingdom for a Kiss

by Dalzo



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Arranged Marriage, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Medieval, Awkward Ben Solo, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, F/M, First Time, Jousting, Kings & Queens, Loss of Virginity, Princes & Princesses, Virgin Ben Solo, Virgin Rey (Star Wars)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-01
Updated: 2019-05-01
Packaged: 2020-02-10 22:01:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18669226
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dalzo/pseuds/Dalzo
Summary: “His name day is only a moonturn away — there’s to be a great feast in his honour. And, best of all, a tourney he’ll be sure to compete in. He’s a good jouster — I have faith in his victory.” She leans in, a sly smile working to alight her elegant features. “Winning make men bold. It warms the blood, inflates their egos. It makes my Husband insufferable and my son want to celebrate.”“Oh.” Rey frowns. “How can you be sure he’ll win?”“I cannot.” Leia admits. “But I can hope.”Lady Rey Kenobi, the last surviving member of a once great house, is to wed the future King of Naboo.Only, Prince Benjamin Amidala seems determined to avoid her at all costs - even in consummating the marriage.





	Kingdom for a Kiss

**Author's Note:**

  * For [commandercrouton](https://archiveofourown.org/users/commandercrouton/gifts).



> Hello Marissa -- I really, really did try and make this a one shot but I am continuously adding to it and can't stop and, honestly, 3 chapters is looking pretty ambitious right now lol. 
> 
> But I hope I did your prompt justice and will continue to do so. It was an amazing prompt and I had a lot of fun coming up with the story.

The bedding is cold. The chambers, too large and empty. The large ornate window is open, wind drafting through — urging her to tug the furs up to her chin and clamp down her jaw to stop the shivers, pleading for sleep to take claim.

 

It’s a routinely affair; a night after night thing, with little sleep to come — always ending in watching the sun rise over the great keep through that open window, shining a light on her ever-present solitude with crystal clarity.

 

Cold. Alone. Worthless.

 

She should be used to it — Rey’s been familiar to the feeling since she was just a babe; a nobody, barely fitting in even amidst the other small folk. It’s almost amusing how nothing really changed when a knight of the _Queensguard,_ Ser Poe Dameron, and his squire Finn, sort her out from the rolling dunes of Jakku.

 

_Nothing but her status._

 

Lady Rey Kenobi — the last surviving member of a once-great house — they said; to be escorted to the Capital under the Crown’s orders and marry her long-decided betrothed, the Prince of Naboo.

 

The heir to the throne. Benjamin of House Amidala.

 

Rey had never laughed so loud in her life — well, until she was bound, plopped on the ‘honourable’ Knight’s horse like property and whisked away on a long journey to the capital.

 

Here she is, moons later — now married; a princess, being groomed to become Queen. Lady Rey Kenobi Amidala, alone in her bedchambers while her husband sleeps elsewhere.

 

He has not set foot in their chambers since the bedding; has not touched her, looked at her, talked to her. He is a stranger, disgusted by her filth; a peasant dressed in finery, never to bedded or bear his children.

 

It’s why he took a knife to his hand and smeared it over their bed sheets the morning after their ‘bedding’. The prince doesn’t want her, nor her maidenhead.

 

So he never comes to their chambers. And Rey never sleeps, forever missing the warmth of his body beside her to keep the frost away and sooth her conscious state away. And for the one-hundredth time, she watches the sun rise over the lake — painting the sky in beauty, dancing over the great lake’s glimmering surface.

 

Alone and shivering.

 

~ * ~

 

 

“Have you been sleeping well?” The question comes when breaking their fast. “You look tired. Are you ill?”

 

“I’m well, _Your Grace.”_ Rey manages a weak smile to show the Queen just how ‘fine’ she really is. “I’m still growing used to the cold nights — they were never like this in Jakku.”

 

Leia nods, lips in a thin line. She takes a sip of her tea while Rey recalls all the mannerly things they taught with eating proper.

 

“Are you happy?”

 

Rey stops chewing, nervously glancing up to meet the Queen’s warm brown eyes — so similar to Prince Benjamin’s the day they wed.

 

“I am—”

 

“It’s treason to lie to a Queen.” She japes

 

Rey frowns, looking down at her lap. Her fingers toy with the flaring skirt — such decadence in a dress; fine embroidery on the tight corset, slaved over by someone deemed beneath her. 

 

She has so many now — countless of dresses that flatter her womanly curves; flow elegantly when she walks the castle halls. There’s thick wool to keep her warm and fine silk to wade off the summer heat, all different colours and silhouettes.

 

They’re paired with heavy jewellery as handmaidens brush her hair and braid it into something worthy of a Court’s appearance, no matter the tangled mess it becomes upon undoing. Perfume is applied to mask her scent, rouge to her cheeks to colour her golden skin in a beautiful, artificial blush.

 

Looking at it all — she can’t help but _wonder_ if they remember her when arriving: mud stained rags, dirt etched into her skin, messy hair and scowling.

 

Rey’s hands clutch into the thick, itchy wool at the memory.

 

“Your handmaiden, Rose — she tells me the Prince has not shared your chambers.” She flinches at this. “Not even for a visit—”

 

“I know my duty.” Her voice shakes. “I know I am supposed to bear an a heir—”

 

“I am not here to pressure you about bearing a babe, Lady Rey.” She reassures kindly. “I only wish to understand why.”

 

A flash of anger stabs through her chest — this time, she meets the Queen’s gaze fiercely; hazel, burning bright between narrowed lids. 

 

“I believe the Prince is unhappy with me.” She admits, a tremble in her tone. “He hasn’t visited my chambers, not once. Even at feasts, when he’s beside me, he never… he _never_ talks. I try but he makes it so…so _hard._ He doesn’t ask me to dance only to glare at me when another Lord does.” Rey bites her lip, shaking her head to whisk away the prickling at her eyes — she _will not_ cry from this man. “He… he doesn’t even look at me proper— _properly._ Your Grace, I… I don’t think this match is working.”

 

Much to her surprise, Queen Leia laughs. Rey can feel outrage bubbling inside, ready to snap and be done with this meeting, but her warm hands reach over the table and grasp her own.

 

“Rey, may I be honest?”

 

“Do I really have a say?”

 

“Of course not.” She smiles at this. “My son has never dealt well with people. He detests feasts and despises the court. I fear he’s not fit to be a very tolerable king — not with all the snakes that reside in the Capital.” Leia sighs. “He keeps himself — be in the library or sparring with Ser Poe. Communicating is his weakness; _especially_ when it involves a beautiful woman.”

 

Rey shakes her head. “Then why did he not… when we wed — we never, um, _consummated._ ”

 

“Have you ever given a thought to Ben _perhaps_ feeling the same way — that you are disappointed with him.”

 

“What would make him think that?!”

 

“You seem… off. Unhappy, wishing to be elsewhere—”

 

“Because of him!” She snaps, before recoiling in horror. “ _Forgive me, your grace—”_

 

“Please, Rey. Call me Leia — _or mother._ You’re my daughter by marriage, now.” She nods mutely. “And I wish to make you comfortable here — happy even. My son too.”

 

There’s a pause and Rey looks out of the Varykino Keep to the lake — always so pretty and distracting, easing her mind from troubling thoughts for the _briefest_ of seconds. It’s a relief, in a sense.

 

“How can I make him happy?”

 

“You already do — my son just has an awful way of showing it.” Leia states reassuringly. “He’s besotted by your beauty. Get close enough, and he’ll soon become entranced by the rest.”

 

“How can you be sure?”

 

“Because I know my son — _and I really know my Husband._ He’s so like his father. A bumbling idiot with a foolish tongue.” Rey looks up in shock. “Trust me.” Her brown eyes glimmer, and she finds it easy to do as she asks.

 

“So what am I to do?”

 

“Nothing.” Rey blinks. “His name day is only moonturn away — there’s to be a great feast in his honour. And, best of all, a _tourney_ he’ll be sure to compete in. He’s a good jouster — I have faith in his victory.” She leans in, a sly smile working alighting her elegant features. “Winning make men bold. It warms the blood, inflates their egos — it makes my Husband insufferable. It makes my son want to celebrate.”

 

“Oh.” Rey frowns. “How can you be sure he’ll win?”

 

“I cannot.” Leia admits. “But I can hope.”

 

Rey nods, settling back into her chair. She plops a grape into her mouth.

 

“Yellow is his favourite colour.”

 

Rey’s brows furrow. “Pardon, Your— _Leia?”_

 

 _“Ben.”_ She clarifies, taking another sip of her tea. “He’s fond of yellow on you — we’ll need to make you a new dress for his named.”

 

_Like she doesn’t already have enough._

 

_~ * ~_

 

 

_Besotted by her beauty._

 

She thought on it all day and still couldn’t make sense of it, going on a late-afternoon walk to clear her head.

 

Her feet carried her all over the keep, in foreign castle halls. She’d been here for some time but still found herself lost. Somehow, Rey found herself on the battlements.

 

Wind whipped at flushed cheeks, threatening to unravel the braid so intricately woven with her hair. It lifted at her skirts, sent chills through her skin — but all of it was worth the view it afforded of the rest of the city.

 

Green, she could see — trees and shrubs; blue skies with fluffy clouds, branches that housed noisy birds. Naboo may not feel like home but there’s no denying it’s beauty.

 

A grunt rips through her appreciation, turning her head down to the training yard.

 

And there _he_ is.

 

Her husband, parrying with Her Poe — he goes in hard, like a dance. A firm grip on the hilt of his sword, wielding it with grace as it sings against his partner’s.

 

One, two, three strikes as the men force each other back and forth. His soft hair falls in messy waves, whipping about as the two circle and double their efforts to undermine each other.

 

Rey watches, unable to look away.

 

He’s so strong. A wall of muscle, under his tunic, breeches clinging onto thick thighs. His undershirt is rolled to his elbows, exposing tense movements in his forearms as he fights to best Dameron.

 

In the end, he wins — Ser Poe’s sword falling onto his back at a well placed struck, hands held in the air as he yields.

 

The fellow guards in the training yard clap the victory and Prince Benjamin glances around, a small smiling toying at his lips. 

 

The wind rustle as his eyes glance up to the battlements, finding her gaze. He holds the stare and Rey wishes she could see clearly — the exact colour to the flecks within instead of the two inky black dots they resemble far away.

 

His lips part, grip loosening on his sword as his stance melts away.

 

_Perhaps she should go down and congratulate him? Is he still looking? Why is he still looking?_

 

Poe’s leg strikes out, sweeping the Prince’s legs clean off the ground as he lands on his back with a loud _thud._

 

“Never turn your back on an opponent, yield or no yield.” His lesson booms over the groan from Ben, laughter following the move.

 

Rey disappears before he can look up again.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so the joust/feast is what totally made this lose one-shot status bc it just kept growing. That'll be coming next chapter, hopefully soon with a much bigger word count... whoops. 
> 
> Anyways, I hope you enjoyed xx


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